Counting the Rotors
by PrsctrTails
Summary: PW/AJ AU set during the Vietnam war. Uses characters from all the games. Not sure if I'll get into pairings. Neil and Kristoph are main characters. Please read and Review. Rated T for language.
1. Rainy Season

[Ok, this is my first attempt at a PW/AJ AU. Chaptered no less, ha-ha. I'm framing it against historical events I think will give the characters a chance to shine. I really would like feedback on this. Also, I have no clue if I'm going to get into any pairings or such, that's a long way off. Thank you and enjoy!]

The more he thought about it, the more things seemed alike. It was a consequence, after all. He had been told about it repeatedly from everyone. Setting his camera down, he let out a quiet sigh, the sound being swept up by the wind from the Hotel window and the slow cascade of flat notes coming from the yet to be tuned guitar.

"Come on, would it be so hard to get that thing in tune?" He asked.

"Ah, hush." Came the response from the man who was in firm control of the slightly imperfect musical cavalcade. "Ain't that bad." He reasoned.

It really wasn't, but Kristoph was just looking for something to work as a distraction. He was still reeling from the offerings that his own trusty camera had given life to. He hadn't even remembered taking those pictures and yet…there they were. He let out a small sigh.

"Do you think the good people at Leica meant for their precious cameras to document such…savage things?" The blonde asked, holding up his camera, a Leicaflex, the best that Germany had to offer. From his bed, Neil Marshall shrugged.

"I don't think the camera has anythang to do with it." He said. "After all, it didn't choose to come here. We did." He reasoned, sounding almost profound. "Besides… my Nikon is better than your Nazi camera." The Texan quipped. Kristoph used his full powers to shoot a withering look at his brother-in-film.

"First off, it's not a 'Nazi Camera', remember, I'm from West Germany, the good guys, the one's you lovely Americans sell weapons to via South Africa. And second… of course we came here. We aren't going to win the Pulitzer if we go back to Austin and shoot college football games and the Texas Legislature." The blonde explained, earning a nod from Neil.

"True enough, though… we could make good money working for the _Statesman_." Neil said. "Plus…we wouldn't be looking at humans turned into ground beef. Leave that to the hardcore guys." He said, voice trailing into a mumble, mainly because of the mention of the professional photographers who came from around the world to document this dreadful farce of a war. At this, Kristoph laughed.

"The 'hardcore' guys… Fuck 'em." He said, enjoying his quick dive into profanity. "Besides… if we die they'll name stuff for us back on campus. Dibs on the Lacrosse field." He said, smiling to himself as he started the tedious process of lens cleaning. His compatriot rolled his eyes.

"Ah, relax. This damn thang will be over in '73, late '73 tops." He declared, fully believing this. He again sought to poke some fun to relax his friend.

"So, a Leicaflex? Nikon and Olympus not good enough?" He asked, eyes and smile peering from under the brim of his hat. Kristoph faked a groan.

"Don't hate me because I'm rich." He declared. Neil laughed. Oh, he knew _all_ about that. He had known the blonde and his family since they had moved to Austin. Same Elementary, Junior High, High School and College. Neil was by no means underprivileged, but Kristoph was just… in the clouds. It wouldn't have been easy for the VC to figure out he was from the West. If the waves of long blonde hair weren't enough, his designer clothes were.

As Neil was about to speak again, Kristoph grabbed Neil's new Nikon F2 and aimed it straight at the gregarious Texan. Not bothering to set the guitar down, he adjusted his hat and threw up a peace sign with both hands, face in a controlled smile. Kristoph snapped a photo that was actually good, he then laughed as he readjusted himself.

"Okay… same smile…different hands." The blonde said as Neil's smile got a little bigger. In a flash, he subtracted a finger from each hand until only his middle fingers remained. Kristoph happily snapped a few pictures. "Well, there's one to send home." He said, laughing as he set the camera down, his mind finally at partial ease. Neil grinned.

"Screw that, send them back to the photo department at UT. Show 'em how their 'bright hopes' are spending time." He joked. "I mean, that's twenty times better than our jungle stuff. Though, you hanging upside down from that helicopter was absolutely priceless. I've got that shot around here somewhere…" He drawled.

"Hey, I had to find _something_ amusing about all that. Not that Marines shooting trees wasn't just… thrilling. Combat is useless if you can't see it." Kristoph declared.

"Though…" Neil began to add. "Any day that doesn't involve us dodging VC booby traps is a good day." He reasoned, earning a nod from Kristoph, who had returned to his lens cleaning. That was probably the worst part of this whole thing.

Truth be told, the two had grown use to the thunder of artillery and the staccato cracks of firefights. They survived because they learned where to stand, though, that was harder than it sounded. The part that continued to strike fear into them was whenever they would be drawn into those God-awful jungles, a level of Hell that very few men truly knew. It had only been a few weeks since Neil had been trapped in one. It wasn't one of the more serious ones, meaning it didn't involve a falling grid of bamboo spikes or a pit in the ground, which, of course, had spikes on the bottom.

No, this was some weird lasso. It caught around his left ankle and pulled him up until he was hanging upside down from a tree. He had only been mildly amused. Though, he learned to find humor in it when he realized he still had his left leg. Simple gifts, he reasoned.

Raising his head to look out at the window, Neil let out a soft chuckle, getting Kristoph's attention.

"It's kinda sad that all this shit has to go down this way…" Neil said. "This ain't a bad Country." Kristoph nodded as he looked down at the calendar. It was October 1972.


	2. Wholesale

[Ok, don't hate me for this, but I pulled a Clavell. From now on, please consider the previous entry a prologue of sorts, to establish date and location. I'll be getting back to it, so don't worry; I intend to keep this up. Read and Review.]

The rotors spun quickly, doing their very best impression of a Samurai at training. The UH-1 Iroquois was moving swiftly through the late morning sky.

"This whole damn country is a waste of our time…" The pilot said to his copilot, who nodded. The helicopters only other passenger let out a poorly surpassed chuckle.

"What was that, Lieutenant?" The man inquired, bringing his eyes up from the documents he had been studying.

"I said I'm damn proud to be serving in this just and totally necessary war, sir!" The pilot cracked.

"I bet." The man said, knocking some dust of his uniform, which was far dressier than the two pilots who were clad in Olive green jumpsuits, topped off with their white flight helmets. The lead pilot, despite his feigned formalness, showed his true colors with a message written in large black block letters on the back of his helmet.

**THIS WAR SUCKS.**

The passenger, a young Captain, finally broke the resurgent silence. "So, Jake. Told you should have gone to Law School." He said. In the cockpit, Jake Marshall laughed.

"Ah, been waitin' for you to bring that up." He said, mentally dismissing all that formality the army had drilled into him. His copilot seemed to notice this and cast a quick look at the two. He appeared slightly aghast at the change in protocol. The Captain noted this.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, been friends for a while." He explained, sticking a hand out. "Diego Armando, Judge Advocate General." He introduced. The young copilot slowly shook the Officer's hand.

"Wesley Stickler, Nice to meet you, Captain." He said, still a little skeptical of _any _Officer who was so quick to dispense with required procedure. And, of course, there was… "Pardon me, Sir. But… your hair doesn't seem regulation length. Even for a lawyer." He noted. Both Diego and Jake burst into laughter at once.

"Ah, it's all about morale." Diego explained. "My bosses don't think they can keep us happy with crew cuts. Besides, I fed them some BS about hair length being a part of my culture. They folded." He chuckled, removing his dress hat and running a hand through his thick black locks. "Whereas First Lieutenant Marshall is simply in defiance of proper military conduct."

"Yes, sir." Jake affirmed, fully aware his hair was starting to poke out and curl from under his helmet. Truthfully, his commanding officer didn't care, so naturally, Jake was quick to return to his beloved long length, the same length that had won him all those hearts back when he was a hotshot, stud quarterback in college. Besides, he was the best chopper pilot in his division, so who cared? "What brings you to Vietnam, Di?" Jake finally asked.

"Investigation assignment." Diego answered, as he returned to reading documents clad in their normal looking manila folders. "Hey, I just made Captain, what do you expect?" He joked, his grin immediately causing Jake to flashback to their younger days at the University of Texas.

"Oh? Doin' what?" Jake inquired, flaunting military confidentiality and further horrifying copilot Stickler.

"Some… special forces guy." The Prosecutor said, flipping through thin white pages. "Here we go. Lt. Colonel Matt Engarde." He read allowed. The chopper suddenly pitched down, moving Diego from his seat. "The Hell was that?!" He cried.

"Nothin', nothin'. " Jake excused. "Probably an air pocket or somethin' like that." He said, nodding. "We'll be landin' soon. Buckle up." He said, laughing. Diego nodded. With an ease that bordered on bragging, Jake maneuvered the helicopter to a perfect landing at large base that had suddenly come into vision. He touched down with cat like grace. Jake finally spoke again as the rotors slowed. "I'll drive the Captain, you stay and make sure this hunk is still in one piece." He ordered. Stickler nodded, ever obedient.

As the two pilots discussed, Captain Armando shoved his files into his briefcase and carefully stepped from the chopper, donning his peaked Officers hat, the black brim almost as shiny as his shoes. Aside from the hair, he looked the part of a Captain. He finally strolled over to the two pilots. "How hard is it to get a cabbie around here?" He inquired, causing Jake to roll his eyes and make for the nearest Jeep. Diego again cast his glance at Second Lieutenant Stickler. "So… do you know anything about this Engarde gentleman?" He inquired as the wind kicked up a little.

"Just rumors, Captain." He said, not breaking from his inspection duties. "Not the kind you hear in the mess hall either." He added; Diego's eyebrows slowly rose.

"What kind then, Lieutenant?" He asked,

"The kind you only talk about in the dark, Sir." He explained, eyes showing some sort of dread that Diego had never seen in his quaint little office back in the States. Before he could continue, Jake pulled up and the two quickly exchanged proper salutes. As he spun on his heels and made his way down the gentle slope, he couldn't erase that look he had seen in the eyes of Second Lieutenant Stickler. He placed his briefcase in the rear of the Jeep and finally placed himself in the passenger seat, sighing slightly.

"Long flight?" Jake asked, as he started the Jeep forwards.

"Yeah, started in Georgia. I've been through…actually, I don't know how many time zones I've passed through." Diego confessed as he rubbed his eyes. "Even better, I'm chasing a damn ghost." At this, Jake's hands tightened on the steering wheel. The Captain took notice, but said nothing.

"Well, least you ain't stuck fightin' over here." Jake said. "Though, I'm sure prosecuting enlisted men who break curfew presents its own set of challenges. Not to beat ya down, but how'd you wind up with this?" He inquired.

"General Von Karma ordered me. Not like I can argue. Besides, that man has been in the JAG corps since… well, since it started." Armando joked; visualizing his Commanding Officer's large nose and near psychotic personality. "Besides, I have no desire to feel a 17th century cane up the side of my head. So… how's Neil?"

"Ah, he's fine. In Saigon with Kris. UPI or somethin'. He's taken some good shots, I got some in my office." Jake said. Diego did a double take.

"You… have an office?" He asked, incredulous.

"Sure do." Jake affirmed. Not much, but I at least have my own room. And, don't worry. I got room for you. Our guest quarters smell like donkey piss. Can't put Mr. JAG through all that." He explained, openly teasing a superior Officer. Though, through the light hearted banter that only old friends such as they could share, Jake's hands never loosened on the steering wheel.

Clearing his throat, Diego finally used a command tone. "Alright, Lieutenant Marshall. What do you know?" He requested, not leaving much room for anything but a straight answer. Blinking, Jake answered.

"Not a lot, Sir. Rumors passed along from the other pilots and the field Hospitals. Nothing direct." The pilot explained. The lawyer nodded. "Supposedly Central Command rounded up the crazies, ya know, the kind who do excel at combat but fail every part of the Psych test, made them an 'elite unit' and just turned 'em loose."

Diego suddenly understood why Stickler had seemed like a poltergeist was about.

"And Engarde?" Diego asked, cracking his knuckles. Jake rolled his neck.

"He's in charge. Rumor has it he's the craziest thing in Asia since Genghis Khan. He and his platoon are just a rolling snuff film." Jake drawled, his choice of comparison eerie.

"Right then, what's the hard evidence?" Diego asked, looking straight ahead.

"What do ya mean, Sir?" Jake responded, slowing down a little.

"I mean, I wouldn't be here unless _someone_ had found _something_." Armando explained, for the first time wondering how much was being withheld from him.

Jake pushed his tongue around his mouth. "I've…umm… been ordered not to explain too much until we get there."

"Get where?" Diego asked, sitting up.

"To the meeting." Jake answered. "Trust me, Diego. I am as clueless as you. I've just been assigned to be your shadow on this." He explained. Diego, despite his reservations, nodded and leaned back into his seat, content to simply wait and see.

As the Jeep continued to wind around the various dirt roads, the two finally accepted the disturbing atmosphere in which they had been reluctantly dropped. As they came upon the base's version of a traffic jam, Diego pushed his hat over his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"Wake me when we get there." He mumbled, suddenly realizing that civilian life must never again be taken for granted. Jake chuckled.

"When was the last time you fell asleep next to me?" The pilot asked.

"………This really isn't the place for that, _Jakey_." Diego replied Jake chuckled as Diego drifted off to some much needed sleep.


	3. In Focus

[And yet another chapter. I have no clue how I'm writing these so fast, but I somehow am. Go figure. As always, please read and review. And, as an extra incentive, if you've got a PW/AJ character you'd like to see in this, tell me in a review or PM. I'll see if I can't work them in. Danke.]

Attaching the flash to his camera, a semi-difficult task to perform as he leaned against a wall, Kristoph let out a short, triumphant laugh as he finally worked it into place. He needed some night shots of the city of Saigon. Nothing innovative, just the standard stuff. A row of street lights, a Jeep full of GI's, maybe some higher ups in the command staff venturing out into this; South Vietnam's imitation of an American Film Noir.

His greatest gift was one of balance. He didn't need a tripod or anything to steady himself to get shots that normally required them. He reasoned that this was due to his love of soccer, the only sport he could play and not look dorky doing it. Leaning against a lamppost, he got a shot of a few drunken Marine MP's stumbling out of a bar. Might make good fodder for protesters, he thought with a small chuckle. He made a mental note to send them to his brother back in the States.

Unbeknownst to the photographer, someone was watching him, not with malicious intent, but with a genuine interest. After all, not many blondes in Vietnam.

"Nice camera." The figure said as he tucked himself away in a shadow.

Kris turned on his heels, surprised. He began looking around, perhaps a little bit panicked, for several reasons. First off, the voice was American, not Vietnamese speaking English. Second, if he couldn't find the body to which this voice belonged then he was simply going to run in the exact opposite direction.

"Behind you." The voice hinted. Kristoph nodded as he pivoted to follow the instruction. He finally caught sight of a lit cigarette that flashed a little in the dark, almost like a signal. "Is that a Leica?" The voice again asked.

"Yes." Kris answered, taking no steps towards the voice. "And you are?"

A laugh.

"Oh, sorry about that. Not use to doing things directly." He explained as he emerged from the darkness he had used as a cover. One of the first combat tricks he had ever learned. Kris, his eyes trained by his experiences, immediately took note of several important things.

As the figure emerged, he noted the unusual hat the man was wearing. It was a beret, with a large emblem on the front, what looked like an Eagle's head, but red. Hardly standard issue for the US Army. Second, he was an Officer. The blonde took note of his ranks and insignia. He'd have to ask someone later what it all meant. Third, the man appeared, well, young. Older than himself, but not by much, definitely less than 5 years. He also took note of the sweeping head of brunette hair that hid a good portion of this stranger's face.

"Again, who are you?" Kristoph inquired, doing his best to sound authoritative. The soldier laughed.

"Time for that later." He insisted. "I'm always amused to meet war photographers."

"Oh?" Kris answered, now a little curious.

"Yes. I find it amazing that some people would actually do what you do."

"What do you mean?" The blonde asked, now a little confused, not so much at the question, but how well worded the young soldier seemed.

"Simple." The Officer said, lighting a new cigarette. "Of all the things you could be taking pictures of, in all the various places, you're here. In the world's largest killing field. Makes a man curious."

Okay, Kristoph thought, this was going to be fun. Nothing says exciting like showing up some arrogant Army Officer.

"First off," The blonde began, "I like how you say it like I'm here by express design." He asserted, his elegant German accent showing. "I'm here because this is where the prize winning photographs are coming from." He explained, in a voice fully meant to make the Officer feel stupid. The stranger chuckled.

"Oh, is that it? Why not in Greece doing stories about the _Junta_? Or South Africa, covering whatever form of civil strife they're having now?" He retorted.

"Even if I did, my work would still be overshadowed by whatever is happening here." Kristoph said, issuing a thin smile.

And then, somewhere in the darkness, the idiosyncratic eeriness of the Army Officer seemed to just… float away. His one visible eye lit up, a much more friendly smile playing onto his face.

"Hey, don't worry. I get what you mean. Just trying to make it big, right?" He suddenly asked, voice vibrant, like a spring breeze was carrying it. Kris arched an eyebrow. Ok, what in the Hell is with this guy? One second he's something out of a Victorian horror novel and now…. he's right off of a California beach.

"Ja, something like that." Kristoph said, observing how the young soldier began to fiddle with his beret. He had been in this Country for a decent amount of time, but he had never seen a soldier, an Officer, no less, behave like this. "So…where are you stationed?" He finally asked.

"Here and there." The young man answered. "You know, wherever they put me."

"Who's they?" The photographer inquired.

"You know." Was all the Officer said, as if that was supposed to mean something. Well, to him it clearly did. To Kris, not so much. Removing a pen and a small writing pad from his pocket, he decided to try a different path.

"So, how long have you been in Vietnam?" Kristoph asked.

"Since New Year's of 1970." The Officer answered, going for yet another cigarette. "And how long have _you _been here?" He asked, voice disturbingly playful.

"Late '71." The German answered, by now very bothered by the man's erratic behavior. Then again, perhaps he was looking at some sort of shell shock. This was the worst war the US had seen the tail end of WWII.

"Ah. So, can I talk you into enlisting?" He blurted out, laughing.

_Okay…Norman Bates here is getting a little creepy_.

Forcing a chuckle, Kris shook his head. "No, thanks, UPI is good enough. Anyways, I've got to be getting back. Pleasure to meet you." He said politely. The young Officer nodded. As the blonde turned, his inner journalist made a snap decision.

He pivoted on his heels, bringing his camera up quickly. Focusing was followed by a click mixed with a flash, and, bang, he had a great picture. The Officer laughed.

"Be sure to send me a copy." He said, still laughing quietly as Kris turned and began back to his Hotel room.

Later that night, after a thrilling round of developing, the blonde would find himself completely obsessed with one picture. That one Officer had…a perplexing face. He was good looking, but in a baleful sort of way. His smile was warm, but his one visible eye… It seemed as if it knew right where to look. Through the lens, through the pentaprism and through the viewfinder and right into every inch of Kristoph's brain.

He spent hours looking into the young Officer's eye.

He didn't like what he thought he saw.


	4. Occurence

[So, not to sound ungrateful, but is anyone even reading this? I mean, I am putting effort into this and I really would like feedback.]

Slowly yawning himself awake, Neil absentmindedly rubbed his eyes. It was still night, and not just because it was dark out, but because he could still see the full moon. Not bothering to lean up, he merely used his eyes to scan the room. Perhaps it was old habit, but he always tried to be just a little careful. After all, who knew what manner of ghouls resided in this large, jungle nation?

Everyone had heard the stories; ghosts of reconnaissance units from both sides that had been lost since the war's beginning, the sound of distant artillery fire that could not be traced or identified. His favorite had been a report of a sprawling VC outpost hidden deep in the forests near Quang Tri, only to go to the exact spot and find nothing but thousands of years of tree and brush growth. Oh, that had kept him awake for days. Not just because a few GI's had talked about it, but because about a hundred GI's had talked about it. Filed reports swearing it existed. All swearing it existed in the exact same spot.

With another yawn, Neil relaxed his head back into the pillow. Surely midnight was not the apposite time to entertain these thoughts. Especially not when Kristoph was snoring loud enough to possibly alert whomever else was staying in the Hotel. He turned slightly to observe the sleeping blonde.

God, neither of them belonged here, but Kris _really_ didn't need to be seeing the things they looked upon on a regular basis. Christ, Kris belonged taking pictures for the PGA tour or the World Cup, not ankle deep in shredded human. And Neil? Well, he fully intended to go to work for _Rolling Stone_ or _The Sporting News _the minute all this slaughter was over. Part of him laughed because he knew Kris would follow him wherever he went. And that, well…that was reassuring.

His mind still active and unwilling to go back to sleep, he sat up, running a hand through his lengthy hair. He considered intercourse, but Kris appeared to be in a truly deep sleep, so that was out. Damn, this country could be boring when you weren't getting shot at. He looked down at the calendar that lay on the nightstand. According to it, it was only a few days before Jake would go on R&R and probably come and join them. Well, that was certainly worth looking forward to. If only because Jake's almost devil may care attitude would at least brighten things up a bit.

Rising slowly from the bed, still a little worried that even the floor could be booby-trapped, he made his way over to the refrigerator that Krissi's endlessly supply of money had bought and shipped all the way over here. Fishing through it, he came up with a slightly chilled bottle of Cold Duck wine. It was cheap, but it was good.

Pouring himself a plentiful glass, he retreated to his bed and turned his gaze out the window, gazing out the window, trying to silently will the skyline to transmute into some place friendly. Or, at the very least, a place with better nightclubs.

Taking a sip, he slowly resorted back to habit. Scanning the room, he began to try and deduce what would make a good picture. His artsy side thought up putting the square glass on the open windowsill and using the light from the streetlights and the cliché neon signs found so often in Asian countries. That'd look good, but Neil really wasn't that kind of photographer. He seemed almost cursed to be only able to capture tragedy and sorrow. Whereas Kris could walk onto a battlefield and come back with sweeping testaments to the human spirit.

Chuckling to himself, he sat the glass on the windowsill, adjusted it so it had enough light behind it and went to fetch a tripod, because God knows how Kris had such good balance. Probably some sort of weird Germanic gene trait. Fixing his Nikon to the tripod and spending a few moments picking the best angle and settings, he snapped off four or fives pictures.

"Those better look good." He drawled to himself, putting his equipment away and snatching back his drink. Sitting back on his bed, he felt a breeze sweep in and sway the adjacent curtains. Again, this entire Country seemed like one big Haunted House. Still drinking, he wondered why he appeared to be the only person who was affected by all the various… ethereal tales and happenings.

Sitting back near the top of his bed, using the wall as support for his back, he cast his eyes upon the ceiling and the pair of spinning fans. His mind wandered about; about how many nice things he could buy with a stable salaried job. Well, that was a stupid thought because it banked on the logic that he wouldn't escape this Country, and Neil sure as Holy Hell wasn't going to die here.

Shaking his head in effort to get his long brown locks out of their sleep molded position, the young Texan yawned, too tired to sleep. In the past few days, he has become increasingly disturbed by the fact he couldn't remember what being normal felt like. Granted, he was only 23 and by his own standards was still 17 at heart, he had forgotten the feeling of doing nothing but drinking and playing pool all day.

"Well, you're a perfect model of reflective." The voice suddenly broke. Neil turned to his left.

"Hey, Kris." He said, chuckling a little. "How long you been up?"

"Since you tried to show your artistic side with the glass." The blonde answered, sitting up a little, his smile dangerously close to coy. Neil, clearly amused, took another sip.

"Well…it looked good in my head." The Texan explained. "Might be a chore to develop it. We can finally use all the fancy Kraut equipment you have."

"Amazing. Even at 2 in the morning you can come up with Ethnic slurs." The German added, smiling drowsily. "Something wake you?"

"Nah." Neil assured. "Just…woke up." He explained with a light shrug. Kris sat up a little further as he yawned again. Putting his glasses on, he tried to get a read off his best friend, just to see if he was hiding something.

"Nightmare?" The blonde asked, quietly as not to make the Texan feel bad. After all, Kris was prone to them as well. This was a war after all.

"Nope. Not this time." The younger Marshall said. "It is kinda stuffy in here, though." He added. Kris nodded and rose to turn on the AC. The room cooled almost immediately. "Better." Neil commented.

"Yeah, shame we can't the fight humidity." The blonde quipped as he took one last look at the street below before shutting and locking the window. Safety first. As he turned, he let out a small yawn. "Tell me you're going back to sleep."

"Yeah, probably." Neil confirmed, if only because he didn't want to spend a whole night distracted by the horrors of war. Kris nodded as he returned to his bed after fetching a glass of water. Neil scratched his head.

"You hear the latest batch of rumors?" The brunette asked, still nursing his drink. Kristoph nodded as he sipped at his water.

"Yeah. The human eating elephant one is back. What about you?" The blonde asked.

"Oh, at least the one I heard was original. Apparently…there's some small Special Forces unit on their own out in the jungle. Doing God only knows what." Neil explained. His blonde counterpart arched an eyebrow.

"Really?" He asked, swirling the water in his glass. "Sounds… interesting."

On his bed, Neil could just see the sparks firing in Kris's mind. His inner star was clearly thinking of ways to rise. "Kris, what are ya thinking?" He asked.

"Well… the major American operations are winding down… the ARVN missions are _way_ too dangerous to go on, especially for American reporters… Anyone else know about this?"

"Kris, we don't know of this is true, but no, I haven't heard Mia, Spark or the rest of the gang talking about it… Kris, what are you thinking about?" He drawled.

"What I'm thinking, Neil." The blonde began, smiling over the top of his glass. "Is that this is our shot to get something big out of this war." He said, eyes now fully alight. The more he thought about it, the…well, it didn't sound good, but it did sound plausible.

"Last I heard, they were stationed at Da Nang." Neil said, clearly pondering if this, while plausible, was possible. "You actually willing to go chase ghosts, Kris?"

"I am." The blonde affirmed, determination manifesting in his eyes. Neil was quick to note this.

"What happens if we find them?" The Texan countered.

"Beg pardon?" Kris replied.

"Let's say we do find this… Kurtz. What then? If this group is real, I have to doubt they're gonna let us make a feature story out of them." Neil reasoned.

"Assuming they're real." Kris pointed out, doing his absolute best not to laugh. Neil jokingly narrowed is eyes, more amused by the retort than he let on. Mentally, he admitted that while gutsy and borderline stupid, it was the kind of story that would get you a great deal of fame back home. Which would mean a fantastic life for he and Kris.

"All right, all right." Neil began, taking the last few sips of his wine. "When Jake gets down here, I'll talk to him. If anyone would know about this, he would." Neil said, proving to be possibly telepathic in addition to being a photographer.


End file.
